I found a letter spilled with coffee, or that's what I thought,
Edges torn not by douse but of time it was lost,
Lost in phantoms traveling the back of one's mind,
Unintentionally reviving nostalgia for a present unfound.
Silent oaths trapped in scratch,
In a shell, always been alive but is afraid to hatch,
In inks smudged in unexpressed sentiments
Reminiscing the procrastination that it went through,
Times where the fear was supposed to be overcome, yet it only dwindled into the background.
Hands that once itched to write a vow,
Only to write a farewell letter now,
What's the use of waiting under the tree day after day if someone you were waiting for decided that under a tree is not a good meeting place?,
What is the use of the willingness to die for someone if what he's looking for is for someone to live for him?,
What is the use of waiting for him even in the afterlife if he's already hand in hand with someone he's willing to cross the other side with?,
Will you blame him for the time and effort you misspent?
If becoming a white pawn is risky, do you think becoming an hourglass in this modern time is any different?,
"I'll wait for you" the paper says,
Followed by "I love you, and if you're reading this, It means that I was brave",
Funny because if this author was brave, this sheet of scratch wouldn't be at my fingertips,
If she was brave, then I wouldn't be reading these familiar words resting on the same hands that had written it,
All these statements that ended up becoming wishes were once planned to be part of history.
YOU ARE READING
Dolor: Poetry of the unspoken
PoetryCollection of original poems as a way of expressing the author's unsaid thoughts and emotions. A coping mechanism of regretting the "what if's" and haunting forethought. Note that all the poems published are originally my work. Do not post it in an...
